


Temptation

by Testsubject24601



Category: TF2 - Fandom, Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood Kink, F/M, Fantasy, Inappropriate use of medigun, I’m probably forgetting some stuff but it’s late, Kinky, Longing, Medic has a dirty fantasy, Mention of Gore, Operating table, Sex, medic has fantasies, smell kink, some gore, sorry mom, strapped down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24483721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Testsubject24601/pseuds/Testsubject24601
Summary: You’re scuffed up pretty badly from today’s battle. Naturally, you go to Medic to patch your wounds. Medic is a weird fellow, he has his quirks, but with how much he’s staring you know he’s got to be thinking something perverted.
Relationships: Medic x AFAB reader, Medic x Reader - Relationship, X Reader - Relationship
Kudos: 98





	Temptation

**Author's Note:**

> No beta reader so I apologize for the typos (if any). I got into TF2 and Medic is Def my fave. I had to write something for him cause I just KNOW this man is packing... that and he’s totally a freaky bitch. We love to see it.

The battle that day had left you with more than enough wounds. Deep cuts and even a bullet in one arm. You were waiting for your turn to be patched up by Medic, sitting in the lobby of the medbay slowly dripping blood over the cold linoleum floor. Your head buzzed with adrenaline as you sat. You couldn’t feel the pain yet, too hopped up on the endorphins pumping through you. The quiet hum of the fluorescent lights threatened to drive you insane.

Another minute passed until you were called into the medbay. You were the last to return from the battlefield and the last to be seen. You quietly dragged your feet through the doors and over to the operating table. Medic was busy washing his hands from the previous patient. He turned to you once he finished. He gave you a once over before tutting.

“You certainly have a knack for getting bruised up.”

You scoffed and waved your hand in annoyance. The adrenaline was wearing off and you could feel the waves of pain begin to ebb at your body. You let your body fall against the hard surface of the operating table. 

“Please just patch me up, doc. I’m too tired for this right now.” 

Medic regarded you then, giving you a look of disappointment before he set himself to work. He brought the medigun to the foot of the operating table. Flicking it on you felt the soothing waves of its power wash over you. You relaxed into the table and blinked into the overhead lights. Medic brought his cart of instruments over; needles, thread, and some other instruments you didn’t care to know the names of. 

“If you could start with the bullet in my shoulder I would appreciate it.” You mentioned.

He said he would do stitches first since they were easiest then remove the bullet. You huffed and rolled your eyes. He stated that if you would cooperate you were more than welcome to try it yourself. You bit your tongue and settled down. Allowing him to work you busied yourself with observing him. He was quick with his fingers, no doubt from years of experience. As the needle pricked your skin you inhaled sharply not because it hurt but because it felt weird to not experience the pain. You kept your eyes trained on the older man as he continued his work. His brow furrowed in concentration. You noticed how he bit his lip occasionally. You figured it had to be a difficult job, of course it had to be, but damn if him biting his lip didn’t do something to you.

He finished the stitching up your open wounds and set down the needle. He moved over to your left shoulder, examining the where the bullet had pierced your skin. He carefully moved your arm up, seeing no exit wound. Placing it back down, he nodded and sighed.

“You’re going to need to take your shirt off.” He spoke. You blanched. That was dumb couldn’t he just rip the sleeve off? “Before you disagree with me, it’s easier to just take the shirt off.” 

You mumbled under your breath before ripping the shirt over your head, causing you to grunt in pain. You settled back down and realized Medic staring at you. Snapping your fingers in front of his face brought him back to the moment. He apologized and placed a firm hand on your forearm.

“I need to cut more so I can remove the bullet. I’m going to strap you down so you don't move, is that okay freund?” You nodded in agreement. The cool leather of the strap wrapped around both your arms and torso. You tested the straps and realized they were nothing to play around with. It got you thinking but not for long as you felt the scalpel run along your shoulder. You tensed up at the feeling and watched with morbid fascination as your blood began to run down your arm. It pooled around your torso and made quite the mess. You tried to wiggle away from the mess but the straps held you in place. Your struggling caused Medic to look at you curiously. 

“It’s only a little blood.” He commented. You rolled your eyes and told him you didn’t want to get blood all over yourself. “You shouldn’t have gotten shot then.”

He was giving you attitude. You didn’t like it but you kept quiet nonetheless. He continued on with the procedure. He picked up an instrument and held your skin apart. He grabbed another tool and sunk it into your arm. You gasped at the foreign feeling. The metal was cold against your muscles as they tightened around it. You eyed it and gasped once more as it grasped the bullet in your arm. As Medic pulled it out you groaned and slammed your body against the table. He froze the second he pulled it out. His gaze dropped to your form as it convulsed against the straps then fall back.

His body grew hot and he felt his pants grow tight. He had a thing for blood... but seeing you like this, covered in your own blood and strapped down. It did something physical to him. He adjusted himself in his seat and tried to busy himself with stitching your arm back up. He couldn’t help but stare at your heaving chest and half lidded eyes. The medigun had you blissed out as your adrenaline finally wore off. He thought, then, of having you lay there as you were now. Clothes strewn across his medbay, strapped down, cut open and bleeding. Maybe he’d have a hold of your heart, squeezing it lightly as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. His pants were painfully tight now as his mind wandered.

You rolled your head over to him, noticing he had stopped sewing. Using your free hand you snapped him out of his daze. He blinked once in confusion as he realized he was zoning out. Blood rushed to his face in embarrassment and he scoffed at himself. He loosened the straps holding you and wiped the blood clean from your arm. His hands stuttered as he went to wipe your back. The red coating your skin looked almost heavenly. He wondered how your blood tasted… how you tasted. He physically had to stop himself from leaning forward to lick a trail off your back.

Instead, he wiped it away with a washcloth and stood abruptly. He grabbed his medigun and turned the dial higher, healing the remaining tissues around the stitches. You rolled your shoulder to test it out and smiled at Medic in thanks. His work was always impeccable. You thanked him verbally and made your way out of the medbay.

Medic stood there for a while, observing the bloody cloth in his hand. He was still painfully aware of how hard he was. It was no use. The image he had in his mind of you on his operating table begging for him to make the pain go away…. begging him to make you feel good. It was too much. He sat on his chair, facing the table. He took one quick glance towards the medbay doors before looking back to the cloth in his hands.

His hands grasped the material and spread it open, holding up at eye level. He brought it close to his nose and inhaled deeply. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as his other hand palmed at his stiff cock. God above and Satan below you smelled exquisite. His tongue swiped out and tasted the fabric. He moaned loudly, unashamed. His free hand hurriedly unzipped his pants and brought them, along with his underwear, down to his thighs. He stroked himself lazily and relaxed into the chair. Still breathing I’m the coppery scent of your blood.

He let his mind wander again. Now imagining his cock driving into you as you bleed out. High from adrenaline and the healing waves of his medigun you drifted in and out of pleasure. He would run his hands along your wounds, smearing blood over your perfect skin. He’d reach down and lick a particularly deep cut, sucking some of the blood out of it. You’d moan and call out of him. His hands dripping with your fresh blood would move down to your core, teasing you. You’d writhe underneath him in ecstasy as he would finally give you want you want.

He removed the cloth from his face as he thrust up into his hand now. His eyes grew heavy and he cursed under his breath. Damn it, damn you why couldn’t you have stayed a bit longer. He wanted to feel you, see you come undone at his hands. He held the fabric in a vice grip before draping it over his leaking cock. 

“Mein Gott…!” He groaned before continuing his thrusts.

The cool wetness of the cloth was intoxicating. He kept imagining you strapped down, cut open, and begging for release. A few more thrusts and he was coming into the material. A strangled cry left his throat as a white heat enveloped him.

A few more moments passed before he came down from his high. One of his hands came up to adjust his glasses and smeared bloody across the lens. Medic shook his head and sighed. There was still a lot of clean up to be done.


End file.
